


Hard Water

by badteeth



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Porn, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Exhibitionism, M/M, Public Sex, Rimming, more accurately a cockyboys au. canuckboys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 09:51:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22462402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badteeth/pseuds/badteeth
Summary: "After months of missed connections, hot college jock Brent finally gets his chance at some summer love with muscle twink Petey."Released: 7/15/19Avg. Rating: 8.9 💙Categorized under: BareBack, Condomless, Hung & Big Dicks, Rimming, Power Bottoms
Relationships: Brock Boeser/Elias Pettersson
Comments: 7
Kudos: 172





	Hard Water

They start the day on the water: speedboats, wakeboarding, the sun beaming down. Louie and Alex have a house out on the coast, isolated, and there aren’t too many other people out. It’s nice, a lot like every other day on the lake, except for how Bo kept making him climb in and out of the boat until he got a sufficiently casually-sexy shot. Brock laughed for real when Bo said, “You look like a natural out there.” 

Brock can feel Bo’s gaze filtered through the viewfinder, lingering over his torso, the flex of his arm as he combs a hand through his hair and explains, “Yeah, I mean, it’s pretty much how I spent every summer growing up. Land of 10,000 Lakes, you know. Clearly wasn’t the case for my costar today, eh?”

The costar—Elias, Petey for the cameras—has spent most of the afternoon sprawled under the boat’s awning, sunglasses on, water bottle in hand, long legs stemming from European-short swim trunks that have long since dried from earlier in the afternoon. His voice is dry as he says, “I’m fairly sure Sweden has a larger coastline than Minnesota.” 

Brock’s never shot with Elias before. He only booked when he was off school and it didn’t conflict with family stuff, which meant a few long weekends over the summer. Whatever Elias did, it allowed for a more sporadic schedule throughout the year, a lot of time in the Vancouver apartment. He was good, though. When Bo called to pitch the shoot, Brock agreed quick enough that he could hear Bo’s raised eyebrows in the moment of silence that followed.

“Come get some sun, Petey,” Bo says, and Elias rolls to his feet. He’s a bit taller than Brock, but lithe, graceful. Once he’s close enough, Elias takes Brock’s hand as they take a seat. He’s hot pressed up against Brock’s side, and up close, he can make out the barest start of a tan along his shoulders, the back of his long neck.

They start the same as always, the boring stuff—blocking, lighting, last checks—and the less boring stuff. The warm-up. Shooting is always a job first, but even back when Brock was just camming, he liked the social part of it, winding people up. Getting wound up. Working with Bo is like the best of all that concentrated into one person.

“So what do you think of Brent?” Bo asks, and Brock doesn’t let himself preen as he feels Elias’ eyes glance over him, but his blood is pumping a little hotter anyway. He likes being looked at.

Elias says, “He’s okay.” 

Bo laughs, and Brock recognizes it as a joke, but it still fizzles in his chest and he has to work to keep himself from pouting too obviously as Bo responds, “Be  _ nice, _ Petey, Brent’s sensitive.”

“No, I’m not!”

“I think you owe him an apology,” Bo says, coaxing, talking over him, and Brock feels himself dialing in again as Elias sighs dramatically, turns towards Brock and says, “Sorry, Brent.”

And Brock doesn’t let himself look, keeping his eyes squinting skyward. The sky is clear, except for a few birds. He can’t even hear the neighbors from out here.

“I don’t think that’s good enough, Petey. Brent’s a sweet guy, flew all the way out here to meet with us, with  _ you, _ and that’s how you want to treat him? Not that he’s opposed to a little meanness—”

“No, I don’t want to be mean today,” Elias said, and a hand came up to grab Brock’s chin and direct it back towards Elias’ gaze. There’s a real seriousness in his eyes that pin Brock in place. Audio capture doesn’t really allow for speaking quietly out here, but it still feels soft as Elias says, “I’m sorry, Brent.”

And then he brings his full, punch-pink lips to meet Brock’s. He tastes like SPF lip balm and limeade. The kiss is demanding in a showy type of way, lots of tongue, and it turns Brock on even before Elias’ hands start wandering—squeezing appreciatively at Brock’s arms, his chest, trailing down the contours of his torso.

Brock hears Bo say, “Press in,” and even with his eyes closed he can picture Bo stepping closer and focusing on Elias’ fingers twisted in Brock’s hair, his teeth digging into Brock’s bottom lip.

“Is that all you’re gonna do, Petey?” Brock feels the rumble of Elias’ response against his lips. His stomach tenses as Elias’ fingers trail down again, lower, wrapping around Brock’s dick through the mesh of his shorts. He groans and rolls his hips into it, real enough.

A lot of porn can be boring or tedious—stopping, starting, holding positions for the still shots—but Bo is a good director, and Brock likes working with him. Putting on a show. Getting wound up.

His dick is fully hard by the time Elias pulls it out with a low whistle.

“He’s a big boy, huh?” Bo says, and the note of pride makes Brock preen.

“Oh yeah,” Elias responds. “Would love to get it in me.”

“Oh, yeah? You think you could take it?” Bo teases, like this all wasn’t negotiated far ahead of time.

“I can sure try,” Elias says, leaning down and licking over the head of Brock’s cock. It makes him jerk and laugh, drawing him tight in a second. 

He rolls onto his feet and gets his hands on Elias’ thighs, drawing them up as he says, “Let me.” With his hands on him, it’s easier to feel the strength in the corded muscle of Elias’ thighs, even as he goes easy with Brock pulling off Elias’ shorts and folding his legs up to his chest. All of Elias is pale, uninterrupted by tanlines, but his ass practically glows in the afternoon sun, his hole like a strawberry in cream.

Brock starts with a sucking kiss over Elias’ hole, licking up over his balls and cock then back down. He can feel the heat on his back and hear the gentle rocking crash of waves, a distant rumble of another boat engine. This is all private property, Brock knows, and everyone around either knows or directly works with CanuckBoys, but there’s still a thrill in doing all this in broad daylight, on camera, under the scrutinizing gaze of Bo, on top of the noises the pointed tip of his tongue can draw out of Elias.

“Get Petey on his back,” Bo says, so they rearrange, Brock leaning back in, thorough on cataloging what draws noises out of Elias, makes his press back against Brock’s face, until sinks his teeth into the meat of Elias’ ass before resting his cheek on the curve of it.

“My jaw hurts,” Brock complains.

He feels the shift beneath his head as Elias accuses, “Baby.”

But it’s a decent chance for a break. They rehydrate, stretch out, sit beneath the fan Elias had found earlier as he brushes his teeth with one of those water-free brushes Bo keeps around. His erection’s mostly flagged by the time they’re winding back up, but it’s easy to slide back in; Elias is already back in position, lube in hand, long fingers sliding into himself.

Brock tries not to stare, but Bo still catches his eyes as it slides back, and he feels his face start to burn even as Bo asks, “Petey, you okay with Brent getting you ready?”

He starts to protest, but Elias cuts him off with an easy, “Yeah, sure,” and when Brock’s close enough, Elias reaches out, grabs his wrist, and brings Brock’s fingers up to his mouth. Brock had already had a pretty good idea about how good getting head from Elias must be, but the wet suction, Elias’ tongue pressed to the pad of his middle finger, shorts out his brain. He’s helpless to watch as Elias brings Brock’s hand down between his legs. Elias already a little lubed up, but Brock’s spit-slick finger still drags a bit as it slides into that tight squeeze. “Nice, big hands.”

_ “Fuck,” _ Brock gasps.

Elias scoffs. “Come on, that’s nothing.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” 

Brock starts slow, generous with the lube—knowing the slick catches pretty on film—but it’s obvious that Elias likes things a little rougher, and Bo doesn't interrupt as Brock takes his time working him open, even edging in his pinkie just to see Elias grimace then relax, thrumming around Brock’s hand, legs trembling when Brock pushes against his prostate.

“Wish you’d just fuck me already,” Elias grits out.

“Yeah?” Brock says. “I think I could stay right here like this all day.”

“I think I’m paying you to fuck him,” Bo finally says, and it’s not like Brock forgot he’s with them or why they’re all here, but it still sends a jolt of adrenaline through him. Fuck, it’s not always this good, but right now, Brock can’t believe this—lining his bare cock up against Elias’ hole—is his job.

It’s not like fucking, not at first. They reshoot that first breach a handful of times, let Bo take the photos that will serve as the promos online. But it’s still tight, hot, perfect, and Brock feels his core tied tight in anticipation. He’s not proud of it but he could come just like this, teasing himself and Elias, Bo telling him exactly where to hold his arm, to press all the way in and hold it. 

When Bo gives the go-ahead, Elias on his back again, legs spread, Brock finally lets himself thrust, hard enough to fuck a little grunt out of Elias. There’s a pinkness across Elias’ face, his chest, his dick, that the sun didn’t put there, and Brock’s focus dials into that, putting a pin in his pleasure. It feels good to have his goals lined up: look good for Bo, make Elias feel good, make  _ Elias  _ look good for Bo. And Elias is a pro. He knows what to do. It messed with Brock’s ego a little bit when he first started, not knowing where the performance started and feedback to him ended, but it’s just another part of it.

He’s so into it, trusts Elias to be into, that it doesn’t really register as he hears Elias chant, “Oh god, oh god, fuck—”

The vice squeeze on his dick signals it more than anything as Brock glances down, shocked, as Elias strokes himself, white spurting onto his stomach. Brock freezes, still breathing heavy, as Elias says, “I just came. Sorry,” glancing at Bo.

Brock follows his gaze. Bo looks shocked, mouth twisted up almost like a laugh, but Brock still holds his breath until Bo responds, “That’s okay. Brent’s a real stud, huh?”

Elias huffed a laugh as Brock started to draw back, squeezing the base of his own dick. His head’s whirling and his dick’s cooling quick, and it makes Brock feel like some sort of animal. “Sorry if I—”

“No, no,” Elias says. “Don’t apologize for good dick. I just—I can go again. Jesus, Br-ent.”

Bo laughs again, and it distracts Brock enough that it catches him off-guard when Elias pushes Brock’s back against the half-wall of the boat. His face is serious, but he’s still got that playful edge in his eyes that makes Brock smile back as he plants a hand behind Brock’s head and reaches back to line Brock’s hole back up again.

Brock jolts immediately, automatically, but Bo says, “Hold up, guys,” so they hover there, Elias just barely grinding on him, Brock’s fingers digging into his hips, until Bo says, “Alright,” and then, finally, Elias starts to sink back down onto him, fluid, but Brock can feel the sensitivity in the way Elias’ legs tremble, the way his face has gone lax.

“You good, Pete?” Brock asks, and Elias barely nods but his hips roll down to meet Brock’s. Sitting back and seeing Elias work himself over Brock makes him even more appreciative of his body, his strength.

He’s still watching close as Elias looks past him, smiles, waves. Brock tenses as he glances over his shoulder at whoever’s on the beach—the longer Brock looks, the more it just looks like J.T. 

But it could be anyone. Fuck, Brock is balls deep in a guy he just met properly a handful of hours ago in the middle of some lake in Canada, it’s ridiculous and it turns Brock on and he can’t help but draw Elias’ mouth down towards his, give him something to channel this frantic energy into.

“Don’t come inside him,” Bo says, and Brock just groans, hands frantic over Elias. It’s hard to think about the job, and when his breath starts catching, it takes Elias pulling up and off to get the money shot of Brock coming against Elias’ ass.

They stay there a bit, Brock’s head pressed to Elias’ stomach as Bo gets the clip, a few more photos. He can feel his face burning, adrenaline dropping now that the hard part is over, so to speak.

Eventually, Elias drops down awkwardly next to him as Bo goes to grab a towel. If he ever gets post jitters, he isn’t showing them. His gaze is clear as he reaches out and thumbs at the top of Brock’s cheek. “Looks like you got some sunburn going,” and when that makes Brock blush more, he continues with a smirk, “Or maybe not.”

“There could be multiple factors,” Brock tries to protest. “My costar was really hot today.”

That makes Elias laugh, but his face is warm—as warm as it gets, Brock thinks—as he props his head on his hand. “You know, I’m sad I didn’t get to suck you off this scene.”

His tongue instantly feels fat in his mouth, but he’s saved by Bo returning and tossing some towels at them. “Don’t worry, boys, we’ll be here all week. Especially since you both got a little excited today.”

Brock laughs and tosses his head back. Yeah, he thinks this is a pretty good summer job.

**Author's Note:**

> I had the writing yips so I stayed up until five in the morning writing this on half-baked whim, so, enjoy?
> 
> [tumblr](http://mogilny.tumblr.com) | [twitter](https://twitter.com/post_madonna)


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